The Misshapen Box
by Amberfire
Summary: A writing experiment in the form of a tale of unrequited love for the greatest of all the Noldor. It is at the moment arguably unfinished. Constructive criticism is appreciated.


Kings have risen and fallen in my time, and armies raised and defeated, fortresses built and then destroyed. I have lost track of my years, and of my sorrows and joys, save only those most outstanding. I have witnessed almost all of the great battles of Eldar and Men, and participated in many. I have loved as none other can love, and lost everything and regained it. I have kept throughout the ages only one misshapen box and its contents, and I have had it ere the creation of the Silmarils. This is the story of the box, or rather, the first story of the box.

I was conceived before the elves started their trek to Valinor, and my father was one of the Avari that never beheld the glory of the two trees, nor the city of Tirion upon Túna. My mother never felt any joy in Valinor, nor found peace on its blessed shore. She wasted away for grief of my father, whom I have never met, though my years are long and I have known many, many Eldar. My mother left me an orphan with no relations to keep me, and so for this reason the histories of my people — many of which are now lost — have called me Anthiriel the Kinless. I was raised by Meriliel and Aglaran, whose names and deeds are now lost, though I, alone, remember.

I dwelt, then, in Valinor until the Noldor went to Beleriand and fought with Morgoth the Enemy. I was young then, and carefree, and wore gowns of spring colours, pale yellows and greens and the blue of the sky when Laurelin's light was brightest. I sang joyous songs of praise to Yavanna and Elbereth, and embroidered stars and flowers on the loveliest of fabrics. I was filled with joy and everywhere I went I danced.

One day I lay beneath Telperion, the silver tree, listening to the soft rustle of his leaves and the softest chime as his silver dew struck the earth. Though I was not often idle, my hands normally filled with the task of creating some beautiful work or other, I felt the need to relax and embrace the moment. My cycle of creativity was waning, and I was but waiting for the moment when it would burst forth again, forcing my hand and mind to craft some garment or song.

And as I lay there, basking in the faint glow of the trees, I met, for the first time, Curufinwë, who is best known by the name his mother called him, Fëanor. His voice hailed me, and it seemed to me that below the melody and smoothness of his voice there was a crackle of fire. "My lady, thou hast ruined thy gown," he said, the first words he had ever said to me. I remember them with more clarity then I remember anything else of those days in Valinor. His voice was filled with not unkind amusement.

I looked down upon my gown, this one the blue of the sky when Laurelin's light was brightest, and I saw what Fëanor meant; for Telperion's dew had fallen upon my gown here and there and left shining silver spots that glittered when I moved. I looked up into Fëanor's eyes, and though I had not known previously who had called out to me, I knew him then. His eyes seemed to me a blaze of shifting colours, and never could I tell whether they were blue or brown or green or golden or silver. His raven-dark hair, blacker than even my own, fell sleekly to his waist, held by a circlet of silver that rested on his forehead. He was clad in grey and silver and black and was the most beautiful of any Eldar I had ever seen and have seen since.

"I do not think the gown ruined, Lord Fëanor," I dissented softly, "Instead, Telperion has blessed it and me."

At this he laughed, and came closer. "Indeed! I should think, then, that thou shouldst take this blessing further and wear only silver akin to Telperion's light, for Laurelin's gold does thee no favours." He gestured towards the gold jewelry I wore; at that time the only jewelry I had. Fëanor meant that the gold seemed garish upon me, for my colouring was pale beneath my dark hair, not unlike Fëanor's own.

"I would, but I have no silver-crafters as friends, for I am Anthiriel the Kinless and few Eldar do I know. I know but thee, now, and thou wouldst not waste the talent of thine noble hands upon a lesser Noldor such as I." In those days, I danced and sang alone; for few ever sought my company, save but Meriliel and Aglaran, my foster parents, and Nuinath, who loved me, though to him I returned not his love.

"Lesser!" exclaimed Fëanor, shaking his head. "I should think thine talents, whatever they be, must be equal to any other of the Eldar. But if there be none to craft thee silver, then I shall."

I laughed at him then, told him that he surely jested, and bid him good day. In the shadows, I perceived Nuinath watching, but him I ignored, and thereafter the only songs I could sing were those in praise of Fëanor's beauty and voice.

Many weeks after our first meeting, while I wandered on soft grasses barefoot, thinking of melodies and songs, Fëanor came to me, bearing beneath his arm a small white chest. He called to me, saying my name and approaching me, his movements filled with such grace I have seen equaled only in Galadriel.

"As I promised thee beneath Telperion," said Fëanor to me, his beautiful voice filled with seriousness and gravity, "I have crafted thee silver." He offered me the chest, and I, hands trembling, took it from him.

Within were several items of silver jewelry, the like of which has never been since crafted. There were three slender bracelets; one was in the pattern of leaves, another of twining knots, and the last a simple band set with many tiny sparkling diamonds. Two sets of ear-hangings there were—thin geometrical jewels strung on long silver strings—and a circlet for the forehead, this matching the bracelet of leaves. The last item was the most precious, in both monetary and emotional worth; for it was a silver chain to which was attached a globe filled completely with the dew of Telperion. It shines with its faint silver glow still, even though it has been many centuries, yea, millennia, since the destruction of the two trees.

I stared at Fëanor in astonishment, clasping the chest to my heart. "My lord," I whispered, "I cannot thank thee enough for this gift! I thought you but jested..."

Fëanor smiled and shrugged, saying, "I needed to practice my skills, and if these trinkets bring joy to thee, then I am thanked enough. But I cannot stay, lady, for I am needed elsewhere. Fare thee well!" And he turned around and walked away. In the shadows I perceived Nuinath watching, but him I ignored.

I stared after Fëanor, and I knew that instant I loved him, though he was younger than I and arrogant besides. It was a desperate love that would be unreturned, for not long after Fëanor took Nerdanel to wife and she bore him his seven sons of legend. They were all beautiful to look at, and had something of their father's grace, but none could ever equal Fëanor.

I thought, when Fëanor created the Silmarils, he gained part of his idea for them from the little globe he had made for me, filled with Telperion's dew. There are many theories I have heard, but no one has ever mentioned my little globe of silver for I have never worn it but once, and then only Fëanor himself, and his sons, saw it.

When Fëanor wed Nerdanel I turned to Aulë in desperation, begging him to teach me silver-work, carpentry, anything to take my mind off my grief. He consented, and taught me both, but it was with silver that I excelled. I did not wish to fade to Mandos as my mother had, and so to remove my mind from my deep depression, I fashioned for myself a box that within could hold the small silver chest Fëanor gave me, and the sky-blue gown stained with Telperion's dew. It was uneven and unsymmetrical, but the silver of its hinges and latch were fashioned in the likeness of Telperion's leaves and were the work of someone who had mastered that craft.

For I had mastered the craft, and Aulë himself said that I was one of his better pupils, though my work would never, could never, equal that of Fëanor's. And I was unjealous, for I loved Fëanor and ever overlooked his flaws, and never compared my work to his.

Ere I completed this box, Nuinath came to me with a dress of pale gold that he made for me, for he was a weaver of some note. But I shunned him and his gift, for after the wedding of Nerdanel to Fëanor, I wore only grey and black. So Nuinath left my workroom sorrowfully, and did not approach me for many days after that.

And I likewise avoided Fëanor, though I watched him whenever I could, and mourned for love unreturned. I watched also his sons, and thought them fair, but my attention was always captured by Fëanor. For Fëanor was lordly and carried himself with such an air that he commanded all about him to look at him, whether he was speaking or no.

And all that I saw of Fëanor only made love him more. Though he hid it often, there was a kindness to him, and even a humourous side that was scarce seen by others. I heard him laugh, once, a laugh not of scorn or mockery, but of true amusement, and that is another of my memories that I remember with clarity.

Though perhaps I am in minority, I never liked the Silmarils. Their light could never compare, I felt, to the splendour and glory of Laurelin and Telperion. Perhaps it was jealousy, for Fëanor treasured the Silmarils above all else, even his sons. Or perhaps I admired them at first, and through time my mind was poisoned towards them; that is conceivable.

I wonder sometimes, in the dark times of the world when I am alone with my thoughts, if the Silmarils were more to blame than Morgoth for the pains and troubles that beset the Noldor when Fëanor led them from Valinor. For Fëanor was not foolish, but his mind was corrupted with lust for the Silmarils. But perhaps in this I am wrong, for fire is wild and untamed, unpredictable and fierce, and Fëanor held these characteristics and more, and so perhaps the great changes that he caused were inevitable.

When lies first were stirred among the Noldor by Morgoth, then Melkor, I did not worry nor take heed, for I did not often spend time talking with other Eldar. But misgivings grew in me when Fëanor threatened Fingolfin his brother with his sword. Things from that point on were unwell, and a kind of slow sickness began to grow in the Noldor. Kin were not meant to threaten kin, and though no kin do I have, I think because of this I understood the value of kin and friend more than others.

I did not avoid Fëanor, but neither did I seek him out. I yearned for him, so that I could not but help watching him, and even sometimes we talked. I do not know if we were ever friends, but neither were we strangers. I fashioned for him a very beautiful robe, the like of which I never again made, and it was grey and black and silver and of silk and velvet, of an intricate design I have never replicated, and this I gave in repayment of the jewelry he had made for me. He protested that the gift was too much, but I think he saw some of the longing and love in my eyes and his protests suddenly fell silent and he took the garment. We talked not often, and I did not, out of deepest respect for him, interrupt him in his forge.

One thing else he gave to me, and it is something I cast away long ago; he fashioned armour that was not meant for men but for women, and though I think it was meant for someone else other than I, he bade me keep it. It was very beautiful, as was all of Fëanor's crafting, and fit me better than any other armour I ever wore since.

When the Two Trees were destroyed, the Silmarils taken, Finwë murdered, Fëanor led some Noldor from Valinor; others followed Fingolfin, and some stayed behind. My decision was to leave, for I had sworn to myself that I would follow Fëanor wherever he might go, and never protest. Nuinath came as well, though he was heartsore at leaving Valinor. He would not let me leave, nor let me be.

I went to an elven smith whose name I do not recall, and he forged a sword for me that matched my armour. And I put on my armour and girded my sword to my waist and stood in the great host of Noldor, and we marched from Valinor and many never saw it again.

Though it wounds me to recall, I participated in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, and in the raping of the Teleri ships, and though I saw Maedhros son of Fëanor stand aside and wondered at my actions, I had sworn to follow Fëanor in all things and did whatever he bid.

Many events of the First Age meld together in my mind and sometimes I recall very little of those terrible days. But one memory there is that stands out sharpest in my mind, and the pain of this memory has been dulled only a little by time.

The force of Morgoth caught us unawares after the burning of the ships at Losgar, but our hearts burned and our swords were swift and we were victorious. I felled many orcs that day, though it was only a small accomplishment, for they were many and easy to kill. We pursued and all but destroyed Morgoth's armies, returning them to Angband. I first felt battle-joy then, the fierce rush that made my strokes fall swifter and more deadly and my mind and heart leap with an angry happiness that chased reason from me.

Fëanor's anger burned bright and far from the van of the host of Noldor he went, so that he was surrounded by Morgoth's balrogs. I marched with his sons, in a small host that came to his rescue; for I was loathe to be apart from him, though I kept my distance. I was frightened by the balrogs, but upon seeing Fëanor I screamed in fury and charged them. I scored a strike upon Gothmog that drove him back, and this of all my battle memories remains my fondest.

For Fëanor was sprawled upon the ground, surrounded by a growing pool of crimson that stained his armour and his hair. He looked so near death that my heart froze and contracted, and my pain was great. I have never since felt such protectiveness as I felt then.

His sons took him and bore him to Eithel Sirion and there he bade them stop, for he knew his death was upon him. And I stood there, at his final hour, clad in that blue gown stained with the dew of Telperion, wearing the shining globe of Telperion's dew. Fëanor did not see me, and he bade his sons keep to their oaths, cursing Morgoth thrice.

And for a second he was still and I could not bear it. I shrieked something, I do not now remember what it was, and I threw myself upon Fëanor, weeping, and he saw the shining globe of Telperion's dew and winced.

"Curse Morgoth, but curse also thine own folly!" I exclaimed, one trembling hand resting on his cheek; the first and last time I ever touched him. "For is it not for thine lust of the Silmarils that disaster has befallen the Noldor and that our own kin was slain?" Each word caused him pain, for they stabbed his soul like a sword would stab his flesh, but his eyes also darkened in rage.

"And thou'rt who, to speak to me thus?" he asked, his voice thick with pain. "Hast thou right to judge me?"

"I speak to thee so only from love," I whispered softly, and my tears fell upon his face. "I pledged to follow thee even though thy leadership has led the Noldor to folly and certain doom. Dost thou not see my anguish and my woe? Oh, Fëanor, thou'rt all that I shall ever love."

He made no reply then, and I felt his spirit pass from his body. And I flung myself from that empty shell, for Fëanor's body burned brightly and passed away. There would be no tomb for that greatest of the Noldor. I fell upon the ground, all strength gone, and wept so that great sobs shook my body and I felt my sorrow was greater than all of Arda.


End file.
